The Duchess and the Highwayman (Hearts in Hiding 1)

“A touch of hysteria. Pay no mind,” Wentworth said smoothly although Phoebe heard the waver in his voice. It clearly didn’t convince the woman who said more firmly now, “I think you should drop your hand, sir. The woman appears…frightened.”

“The poor creature came seeking pleasure, just like yourself, ma’am.” Ariane was now between Phoebe and the disguised woman. To Phoebe’s astonishment, Ariane put her hand on the woman’s sleeve. “But the pleasure was not to her liking, after all. She certainly didn’t enjoy it as you did, my lady.”

The sudden stillness—no doubt from shock and embarrassment—rendered the other woman immobile for a moment. Then she shook off Ariane’s hand and stepped back against the wall.

“Help me!” Phoebe sobbed again when it appeared she was going to continue along the passage. “I’m being taken against my will. You have to help me.”

“I shall call someone!” the woman said with unexpected strength, glancing at her companion who’d just brought up the rear, a diffident-looking young man some years her junior.

“Perhaps the bailiffs,” Ariane suggested smoothly. “Do you realize who this is? A murderer. That’s right. This is Lady Cavanaugh who has stolen the newspaper headlines for the past weeks, the murderer of her own husband whom the authorities have been seeking, and now we are taking her to the magistrate.”

“How can you be sure?” The woman’s hand went to the ruby pendant at her throat.

“Oh, I know her well. But to reassure you, ma’am, I shall bring one of the servants along for the ride,” Wentworth suggested smoothly. “You, boy! I’ll give you sixpence if you stand sponsor for the safe conduct of this woman to the magistrate. I shall accompany you both.”

The woman stared at Phoebe, her companion standing awkwardly to the side. Phoebe clutched at her sleeve.

“This man is the villain. I won’t go with him. If I do I’ll…”

“Die?” Ariane insinuated herself between the veiled woman and Phoebe. With her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing, she looked more like a Valkyrie than a vestal virgin. “Yes, and only because justice will be served at last!” she addressed Phoebe directly. “You’ll be dangling at the end of a noose, which is where you belong for driving a knife into the heart of your poor defenseless husband.”

Phoebe made to run, but Wentworth’s arm shot out, and he dragged her back. She tried to struggle, but it was no use. So she screamed instead. “After this man forced my hand so he could claim I was the murderer and therefore claim my husband’s inheritance.”

“She’s rambling, of course, but you see she does admit she’s the lady who’s been sought the length and breadth of the country, and furthermore, that she held the murder weapon as it went in.

” Wentworth looked with satisfaction between them all. “So, Lady Cavanaugh, now that you have declared yourself, it’s time for the judicial process to take over.” With an ironic bow to the veiled woman and her companion, he caged Phoebe’s hand on his arm, indicated to the lad to escort her on the other side, and swept her down the corridor and into the street.

16

Hugh had never been so anxious to return home.

“Phoebe, dear heart, I’m back! God, I’ve missed you! Where are you?” Fired up with excited expectation, he burst into the drawing room, tossing his low-crowned beaver onto the ottoman as he looked about him. He was surprised not to have been greeted by the maid, but more so that his beloved had not made a hasty appearance.

“Oh, sir, ye’re back! Thank the good Lord!” cried the girl as she flew into the room, her eyes wide. “I thought ye’d never come. The mistress ‘as been gone these two days, an’ ye also. Who was ter pay me wages? I feared ye both dead.”

“Your mistress is not here, Mary? Two days, you say?” Alarmed, Hugh swung around as if he might be furnished with the very clues the young maid had missed. The elegantly furnished room looked just as it had done when he left. “Why has no one reported the matter?”

“There were no one to report it ter, sir—”

“A note? Surely she’s written—”

“Nothin’, sir, beyond a couple of drafts tossed in the grate,” said Mary, scrabbling among a pile of correspondence in the rolltop desk before handing him a couple of crumpled, soiled sheets. “She jest dressed ‘erself all in black with a veil over ‘er face an’ then she went into the night, and that were the last I seen,” Mary was saying as he scanned the few unhelpful lines.

A painful throbbing of his heart was competing with a growing thundering in his brain as he tried to reconcile Mary’s explanation with the cryptic words Phoebe had written him…two days before?

“Where did she go, Mary?” he asked, crumpling the paper into a ball and advancing upon Mary, who stepped back in alarm. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He tried to master his emotions and the urgency in his voice. “I just need you to tell me all she said to you!”

“Oh sir, she told me nothin’, I swear, else I’d ‘ave found a way ter stop ’er. I dunno what’s she’s done or who she’s met or what she planned. On me honor, I don’t.”

Hugh strode to the window and stared out into the street as if that might throw some light on what had happened.

“Her clothes, Mary…did she take any of her clothes?” He swallowed. “Or come back for them?” he added as the terrible thought intruded that she might have planned to run away the moment he was gone for any length of time. Surely not! She loved him madly. She’d declared it in as many words, just as he’d pledged his own affection. He’d not stinted when it came to making it very clear the strength of his feelings.

“What possible reason could she have had for disguising herself and slipping away in the dead of night, never to return?”

“I dunno, sir. I dunno anythin’, sir!”

“Go, Mary! Ask anyone you can think of. The neighbors. If you hear anything, you must tell me, obviously. Just go!”